


In waiting

by slothesaurus



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, KitaDaii fam days, Kitagawa Daiichi, M/M, Unrequited Crush, awkward baby tobio, iwaoi friendship growing strong bec i need it, some blossoming kagekunikinda friendship, sweet kunimi and kindaichi trying their best to be friends w/ the awkward baby tobio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothesaurus/pseuds/slothesaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his first year at Kitagawa Daiichi, Kageyama Tobio does a lot of things. He tosses. He waits.</p><p>He falls.</p><p>For volleyballs and other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr as a fill but, uh, well, it got away from me. I started doing fills from some prompt posts to curb my writer's block for my current wips and, while a fun exercise, I tend to let this happen ahahaha. I really like how this one turned out so I decided to post it here before the other fills I've done and are still doing. I'm also hoping the anon who requested it might see it here if not on my blog since I still don't know if they've read it. It's for you, anon! I hope you read and enjoy it because I sure did aaaaa.
> 
> Real talk, I have a soft spot for some damn good iwakage as well as for kitagawa daiichi dynamics. I really think that with the way Kageyama reacted in their final match in his third year that Kunimi and Kindaichi weren't just pawns, at least not intentionally or all the time. He was too shocked and traumatized afterwards for it to be purely professional. Add in the fact that in between Kageyama's tyrannical demands from his focus, competitiveness, difficulty in communication and empathy, his coach obviously not knowing how to handle someone with his level of skill and his type of interacting with people....I could go on and on so, in between Kageyama's demands, you still see Kunimi and Kindaichi trying to lighten the mood and have fun, you can see how close they are and friendly they can be during and after their match with Hinata's team. I like to think that their first year together was pretty fun. Sure, up until Hinata there wasn't really anyone that understood Kageyama, but it did seem like Kunimi and Kindaichi tried, and I want to think Kageyama tried in his own way too. After all, just because your friend doesn't understand you, doesn't mean they don't care. BUT YEAH.
> 
> On KitaDaii iwaoi, well, they're fucking solid as a team and pretty awesome senpai despite how Oikawa tries to play himself off. After that pivotal moment with The Headbutt of Clarity, especially. Tsundere senpai Oikawa is such a riot I s2g. I'm cutting my meta short bec you obviously came for the iwakage.
> 
> Please enjoy! And if you find the anon that prompted this LET THEM KNOW I FEEL LIKE I LET THEM DOWN BY TAKING SO LONG WEEPS.

 

 

—

 

 

They do a lot of waiting as first years, asked to sit on the sidelines while practice matches between the more experienced players occur.

Kageyama isn’t good at waiting.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Kunimi asks him one day, hushed and leaning onto Kindaichi’s damp shirt sleeve.

Kageyama stills, palm pressing hard against the shiny wooden floor, legs bent and halfway to settling down in front of them. He lifts his gaze up to blink at Kunimi, then slides it over to Kindaichi to do the same.

“Doing what?” He asks them after the slam of a volleyball echoes from the other side of the court, confused but attentive as he tilts his head.

Kindaichi grimaces as Kunimi sighs, hot breath making him feel even warmer underneath the slick of sweat, “Can you please get off me, you living furnace?”

“The thing with Oikawa-san.” Kunimi explains, ignoring Kindaichi’s wishes and opening his mouth to press his lips to the taller boy’s sleeve, blowing hot air onto the cotton until it heats to a damp and uncomfortable circle searing his friend’s skin underneath.

Kindaichi shoves him firmly, knocking him onto his side as he tugs on the edge of his sleeve, flapping the material to shake off the moist warmth.

Kunimi doesn’t grunt or react violently, stretching out on the floor and rolling on to his back. His right foot nudges against Kindaichi’s left knee, left foot barely grazing the side of Kageyama’s thigh.

Kageyama waits for Kunimi to relax, staring closely at his eyes and how they flutter before drooping slowly. “What thing?”

There’s a moment where a volleyball sails over their heads, and all three of them watch it idly before it collides with the back of a third year’s head.

“The thing where you toddle up to him and ask for serving lessons. He always turns you down so why do you keep doing it?” Kindaichi pipes in, brows furrowing in alarm as they watch the ball’s victim storm over to the source of the projectile with a spine-chilling look on his face.

Kageyama feels his mouth bunch up, eyebrows sloping at the phrasing. He huffs softly and wraps his fingers around his ankles. “I don’t ‘toddle’ up to him.”

Kunimi nudges his leg with a foot, letting his head loll to the side to look at Kageyama better as he mimes holding a volleyball in his hands, eyes perking up and widening with a puppy dog, hopeful look in them.

“Oikawa-san,” Kunimi mimics rather believably, voice a bit stilted but earnest, “Please teach me how to do a jump serve.”

They’re silent for a bit, but Kindaichi loses it as soon as Kunimi makes a show of reenacting Kageyama’s familiar habit of pressing his lips together in an awkward attempt at an encouraging smile.

“That’s it!” Kindaichi chokes out, struggling to hold back his laugh and tugging the collar of his shirt up over his nose to let it loose there instead, hands slapping his face to sober up, “Sorry, Kageyama, but that’s exactly what you look like!”

Kageyama feels himself pout, crossing his arms and ducking his head, “I get excited about learning to serve, okay. So what?”

Kunimi snickers faintly from his position on the floor, but suddenly gasps a second later, seizing up and wriggling away from the fingers Kageyama unleashes on his side.

“No! Kage–” Kunimi swallows back a giggle and rolls over once, escaping the threat and landing on his back again, feet now propped over Kindaichi’s legs. He turns away from Kageyama and curls up a bit. “Great, now I’m tired.”

“All you did was roll around on the floor.” Kageyama points out politely.

Kindaichi places his palms over Kunimi’s sneakers, giving Kageyama a faint, knowing smile, “Remember you’re talking to Kunimi here, Kageyama.”

“I like sleep.” Kunimi mutters defensively.

Kageyama nods enthusiastically, “I like sleep too.” He pauses and blinks, frowning thoughtfully, “But I like volleyball more.”

“Of course you do.”

Kindaichi snorts, somewhat fondly. Or at least, it’s the same snort Kageyama hears Iwaizumi-san  make when Oikawa-san is doing something ridiculous.

“Remember you’re talking to Kageyama here, Kunimi.” Kindaichi quips playfully, pinching Kunimi’s sock and snapping it against his ankle. Kunimi kicks him lightly in the stomach and goes back to dozing.

Kageyama eyes the both of them, feeling restless and anxious to step onto the court. He’s excited and coursing with energy he needs to burn, plays he wants to try. But Kindaichi and Kunimi seem oddly content like this, spread out on the sidelines, watching their upperclassmen move together with incredible precision and teamwork. Despite their obvious skill and interest in the game, they look just as happy here as they do winning a set. He doesn’t really understand where this sort of contentment comes from, and the lack of understanding bothers him just as much as the very idea of not being able to play whenever possible.

He looks over his shoulder, catching Oikawa-san at the precise moment he sends an accurate toss right where Iwaizumi-san wants it. The toss is almost casual, light and graceful in a way that’s deceptive. Iwaizumi-san jumps, sinewed shape of his back fluid in movement as he arches and slams the ball down on the other side of the net. It’s a vicious quick attack, and the two of them aren’t even out of breath. It’s incredible.

They’re incredible.

Kageyama watches Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san meet for a crisp high five, hands touching for a moment in a satisfying smack of skin. Their mouths mirror each other for the briefest of seconds, lips stretched wide and teeth showing, grins natural and proud before they wipe the expressions off along with their sweat. And the game resumes.

Smiling, giving high fives. It all looks so easy when they do it.

Kageyama thinks playing volleyball is easier in comparison.

He turns back to where Kindaichi is snapping his fingers at Kunimi, trying to rouse him back into sitting up.

“It looks fun.” He confesses with a soft trickle of happiness. Kindaichi shifts his gaze to him, Kunimi’s hand knocking his fingers away as he looks over his shoulder at Kageyama as well. “I want to know what it’s like to do a jump serve. They look cool.”

He rolls his shoulders, shrugging and wrapping his hand around his index finger, squeezing it unconsciously, “And Oikawa-san might say yes if I ask him enough.”

Kindaichi scratches the back of his head, simpering as he sucks air past his teeth sympathetically. “I don’t know if annoying Oikawa-san until he teaches you is a good idea.”

“You could ask Iwaizumi-san instead.” Kunimi suggests as he rolls over onto his other side, facing Kageyama as he pillows his head with an arm. “He can teach you jump serves too.”

“Yeah, Iwaizumi-san’s really cool when first years talk to him!” Kindaichi nods, enthusiastic as he looks over at their vice captain with an impressed little smile.

“I…” Kageyama squeezes his finger harder and looks away, feeling himself frown again, “I’d rather ask Oikawa-san.”

“Aw, come on,” Kindaichi defends, leaning forward to prod at Kageyama’s stomach to get his attention, “I know Oikawa-san has the best serve right now but Iwaizumi-san’s is cool too. And he’s cool too. I mean, it can get pretty scary talking to him because, well, it’s Iwaizumi-san and you don’t want to look stupid–”

“He’s really nice.” Kunimi cuts in blandly, as if it were obvious despite the frequent scowls Iwaizumi-san would produce during practice, almost always due to Oikawa-san.

“I never said I didn’t think he was nice.” Kageyama mutters.

“Yeah, but you get really quiet around him.” Kunimi says, this time with a bit more feeling, as if he were stressing something important, “You only start talking and bouncing again when you want to ask Oikawa-san something.”

Kageyama practically crushes the finger in his hold, lips parting to say something back, but no words come out. He can’t deny the statements, but he can’t explain them either.

Before he can flounder to form an actual reply, a warm hand presses onto his arm from behind.

It’s a large hand, calloused and kind of sweaty as it touches his sleeve and a bit of his skin past the edge of it.

“Hey, you three,” Iwaizumi-san rasps out, soft but slightly scolding, “Next game is for the first years. Coach is calling for everyone. Come on, up now.”

Kindaichi nods, then shakes his head. “Um, yes!”

Iwaizumi-san tilts his head slightly, hand still on Kageyama’s arm. “Saying yes or shaking your head no, which is it?”

“Yes, we’ll go now.” Kindaichi manages, recovering enough to go back to nodding. “Sorry, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, vice captain tone tucked away, rough voice building with a playful edge as he squeezes Kageyama’s arm and pats it once before turning away, “Don’t lose, okay? I bet Oikawa that your team’ll kick butt.”

“We’ll do our best!” Kindaichi says, beaming and already tugging Kunimi up against his will.

“What he said.” Kunimi adds distractedly, attention focused on Kageyama who’s slowly moving to stand. “Kageyama, you can breathe now.”

Kindaichi’s excited grin loses some of it’s brightness, noticing Kageyama’s tenseness.

Kageyama lets out a sigh, blinking and shaking himself back into awareness. He nods once, face shifting into a quiet sort of excitement the two other boys know mean that they’re likely to keep Iwaizumi-san from losing his bet.

“Time to win.” He says with a small pump of his fist, turning on his heel and practically charging up to where the other first years are gathered.

Kindaichi lets out an amused sigh, almost a laugh, “Man, it’s like watching a dog hear the word ‘dinner’. If he had a tail it’d be wagging like crazy.”

“He keeps doing that too.” Kunimi points out carefully.

Kindaichi glances at him from the corner of his eye, then starts walking towards the court. Kunimi keeps pace with him. “The quiet thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it’s just how he is. Kageyama’s okay. Just kinda weird. And in love with volleyball.”

From another corner of the gym they see their vice captain turning away from their captain, water bottles in hand and towels slung around their necks. Iwaizumi pauses from taking a drink and gives them a thumbs up. Kunimi gives him one back while Kindaichi gives him two. They watch his gaze move over to Kageyama, waiting for him to look his way before giving him a thumbs up as well.

Kageyama visibly freezes, similar to earlier. Iwaizumi-san notices and frowns, face scrunching up in mild concern. His hand lowers a bit, index finger slowly curling to touch his thumb in an open circle, raising it again as if to ask ‘you okay?’

“In love with…volleyball.” Kunimi repeats slowly, watching Kageyama hesitantly parrot the hand sign back before turning around and spotting the two of them. He looks slightly relieved. And a little constipated.

“Yeah.” Kindaichi nods weakly.

“Probably.”

Kunimi lets it go, leaning over to whisper into Kindaichi’s ear, “You’re one to talk though, you’re plenty weird too.”

“Hey! I said ‘kinda’.” Kindaichi corrects him, making a dissatisfied face before quickly marching off to Kageyama’s side.

Kageyama gives him a half-concerned, half-confused look, blinking curiously, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Am I weird?”

“…Kinda, I guess?”

“Hah.”

“Shut up, He said ‘kinda’ too!”

 

 

—

 

 

Kageyama does a lot of waiting during school hours too. It feels endless sitting in a classroom, sunlight hitting him from his seat next to the window.

There isn’t anything interesting going on in front. If the teacher asked him to go up to the board, Kageyama wouldn’t even feel ashamed of not knowing what to write and probably draw his favorite plays from last week’s practice match with Chidoriyama. Everyone else would at least be as clueless as he is about the actual question.

He rubs at an eye and yawns, head turning to look out the smudged glass with a good view of the school’s field.

A class is out doing stretches, probably going for a game of soccer.

Iwaizumi-san is there among them, sunkissed on the grass, legs split apart with ease as he leans forward to touch his toes on one side. Oikawa-san is in a similar position beside him, tips of his fingers reaching over to swat at Iwaizumi-san’s other foot quickly. He leans over towards his other foot just as Iwaizumi-san swipes a fist where his head was moments earlier.

Oikawa-san laughs and sticks his tongue out. Iwaizumi-san pinches his cheek and tugs on it hard. It looks like they’re having fun.

They make it look easy.

Kageyama feels a shot of something odd in his stomach, something that makes him want to drink a few cartons of milk until the storm settles inside him. It doesn’t sting, but it aches dully. It’s a familiar ache, the one that’s always tugging on his hand whenever he steps off of the court, clarity around him slowly returning to a hazy, calm veil. His teammates are harder to talk to after that. More difficult to connect to than when they’re following up on each other’s receives. More difficult to coax smiles from than when they’re spiking an excellent toss.

More difficult.

_More._

And well, when he’s off the court, Kageyama doesn’t feel like…more. He feels kind of… _less_.

Oikawa-san is amazing on the court, but kind of ridiculous off of it. He seems kind of terrible sometimes, but Kageyama isn’t going to pretend he’s the perfect person either. He knows he gets too quiet that it bothers people. He knows that he’s clumsy with how to handle others. He knows he’s not sure of himself when he’s off the court. But on it, he knows exactly who he wants to be.

He knows he can be more on the court. Just like Oikawa-san. But despite what Kageyama believes is a similarity they share, he wonders how Oikawa-san can be so good, so incredible on the court and still be _more_ when he’s stretching and goofing around during gym class.

“–geyama-san!” His teacher calls sharply, snapping him out of his daze. Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa-san’s class have moved to start their game. “Please pay attention.”

Kageyama mumbles an apology and turns to the board. He glances at the clock above it to check the time.

Two hours and thirty-four minutes left of the school day.

Two hours and thirty-four minutes left until he can play volleyball again.

Kageyama waits, counting down the seconds dutifully until he can be more.

 

 

—

 

 

On his bad days, Kageyama still waits. When he’s sick and can’t go to practice, he waits for his mother to pick him up from school. When he’s been called by the teacher to discuss his failing mark on a test, he waits for them to finish explaining things that could help him. When the vending machine by their gym hasn’t been restocked with his favorite milk drink, he waits in line at the school store to get the one they have instead.

Even on someone else’s bad days, Kageyama still finds himself waiting.

He’s waiting now, carefully still as he watches in wide-eyed understanding that he’s come to ask Oikawa-san at a bad time, on a bad day.

Iwaizumi-san’s hand is gripping Oikawa-san’s wrist tightly, but not enough to hurt him.

“Calm down, you dumbass!” Iwaizumi-san yells with an anger that’s different from the usual kind. Frustration and irritation absent, something that looks like worry diving in to take its place.

The gym is hushed. Quiet.

Oikawa-san exhales shakily, looking frozen and lost in a place where he normally thrives. Iwaizumi-san’s hand doesn’t leave him, doesn’t loosen, not until Oikawa-san’s limbs move.

His arm falls slowly, Iwaizumi-san’s hand letting go as he straightens in stilted, hesitant pauses. He looks at Kageyama, eyes wide and haunted, shock and shame tearing his lips apart to breathe out, “Sorry.”

Kageyama wants to say sorry back, but can’t speak.

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi-san says softly, calm and soothing like the one time he sprained his ankle during a running drill, “I’m sorry, but we’re done for today.”

He bites his lip, nodding his head and trying to convey as much understanding as he can as he answers, “Oh, okay.”

Kageyama bows to both of them quickly, passing behind to reach the lockers. He can’t help darting his eyes back to look at Oikawa-san’s stunned figure, guilt creeping up his spine and tugging his mouth down into a frown.

When he reaches his locker, he sighs heavily. They’re yelling at each other which…is _probably_ a good sign considering it’s Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san.

He still feels guilty, but the familiar volume of their voices, despite the anger and other torrent of emotions filling the air, is a sort of comfort.

Kageyama remembers the look on Oikawa-san’s face. He doesn’t quite understand. But he knows what it’s like to be upset when nothing goes right. It’s a familiar companion, despite what everyone thinks of him and his skills. Simple things can be the most frustrating things, especially for someone people call a genius. There isn’t much leniency or guiding given to him when he’s struggling, and he’s been told enough times that he’s gifted that it feels like a failure in itself to ask for help.

He wonders if even someone as good as Oikawa-san has trouble asking for help. He doubts it.

He takes his time packing up, catches sight of his forgotten onigiri and pulls it out to eat.

Oikawa-san is having a bad day, so Kageyama moves slowly, and, just for a little bit, for a few minutes–

“The team with the better six is stronger!”

–waits.

 

 

—

 

 

The day after the incident, at a ridiculously early hour well before morning practice or school starts, Kageyama stands awkwardly in front of Oikawa-san’s shoe locker.

He scratches the back of his head, bowing in apology to the locker before hanging a plastic bag of milkbread over the padlock. He backs off immediately, hands up as if he’d been burned, staring with wide eyes at the bag as it sways slightly but doesn’t fall.

He sighs in relief, picking up his school bag before scampering away from the scene of the crime.

 

 

—

 

 

“Wait, Kageyama–” Kindaichi moves to go after him but feels Kunimi’s hand on his shoulder.

He sees the other boy shake his head solemnly, “It’s no use.”

Kindaichi sighs, dropping his raised arm back from reaching out to their teammate. He watches Kageyama march over to where Oikawa-san’s just switched out with one of their other setters. “There he goes. Again.”

“Can’t fight a boy’s love for volleyball.” Kunimi intones sagely.

“He could at least finish tossing to me before going to get his daily rejection from Oikawa-san.”

Kunimi’s face scrunches up in mild confusion, “We could tell him that later but…is it just me or does he seem less excited about asking Oikawa-san today?”

“Kinda felt like he was less, uh, bouncy with tossing but it was still good? I mean his tosses are pretty sharp.” Kindaichi agrees, scratching his head while squinting at the two setters.

“Oikawa-san, please show me the basics of a serve toss.” They hear Kageyama ask, still as earnest as ever but a little softer than what they’re used to.

Oikawa-san brings a volleyball up to his head, turning to Kageyama and moving a finger near his eye before making a face at him, “Heck no, you idiot! Idiot!”

“Oikawa, stop picking fights with the first years.” Iwaizumi-san scolds as he passes by behind them, just as Oikawa-san tugs at the skin under his eye and sticks his tongue out at Kageyama childishly.

It’s difficult to tell, it could even be just a trick of the gym lights being too harsh on their eyes, but Kindaichi and Kunimi swear Kageyama’s shoulders loosen after Oikawa-san finishes denying his request.

 

 

—

 

 

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa-san sings in the locker room after practice, freshly changed and slinging his bag over a shoulder, “Throw this in the trash for me like a good kouhai. The environment is important, after all.”

Kageyama blinks at the older boy with the one eye he has above the neckline of his clean shirt, tugging it on fully to reveal a frown, “Why can’t you–”

Oikawa-san doesn’t give him time to answer, tossing the balled up plastic at him and pouting disappointedly when the first year catches it with little trouble.

He stares down at the misshapen ball of paper and plastic, frown growing wider even as he turns around to exit the clubroom and follow obediently.

“Hold on, Kageyama, I’ll come with you.” Iwaizumi-san says, pulling out his own balls of crumpled paper from his open bag. He walks past Oikawa-san, hitting him on the back of the head lightly with one of the balls before opening the door for both of them.

“Iwa-chan, why do you have to be so me–”

Iwaizumi-san slams the door shut behind him.

He sighs, almost pleasantly, “That was satisfying.”

“…Congratulations?”

Iwaizumi-san breathes out a faint huff of a laugh, tilting his head to look over at Kageyama as they start their trek to the set of bins at the other end of the clubrooms. “You’re a pretty good guy, you know that?”

“What–no.” Kageyama flounders as they near the trash bins, surprised at the sudden comment as he fiddles with the ball in his hands, twisting at a protruding bit of plastic. “I. That is, um. Thank you?”

Iwaizumi-san frowns thoughtfully, stopping just in front of the trash bins and dunking his papers into the appropriate one while still staring at him.

“You know I’m not mad at you, right?” He says quietly, eyebrows bunching up and voice lowering even more, “About what happened yesterday? That wasn’t anyone’s…”

He pauses, breathes deeply through his nose and rubs the back of his neck, eyes downcast as he continues, “That was probably my fault for not taking better ca–”

“It was a bad day!” Kageyama blurts out, facing Iwaizumi-san with a serious, determined expression, ball of trash cradled in his hands like some sort of shrine offering.

Iwaizumi-san raises his head and moves to face him back, face curious.

Kageyama swallows, throat suddenly dry with the older boy’s gaze on him. It’s evening and they’re alone next to the trash bins, fluorescent lamps around them painting their faces with moon colored light and sky colored shadows. He ducks his head and frowns, voice still serious and determined as he looks up at him.

“It was a bad day.” He repeats, resolute with a casual little shrug, “Everyone has bad days.”

Iwaizumi-san’s eyes widen for a second before falling halfway shut, mouth bursting into a soft line that starts curving up into something that Kageyama doesn’t think he’s earned. He put it on his face so easily. It’s never that easy for him.

“Everyone.” Kageyama stresses, compelled by that smile to keep going, voice losing a bit of its composure when Iwaizumi-san’s smile grows even bigger, showing his teeth, “…even…Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi-san laughs, planting a warm palm on the crown of his head and ruffling up his hair, “Is every other thing you say attached to a question mark?”

“Sometimes.” Kageyama answers honestly.

“Thank you.” Iwaizumi-san sighs out, content and light as he pulls his hand away to pluck the ball of plastic from Kageyama, raising it up and showing it to him, “And thank you for this too.”

Kageyama’s face scrunches up in confusion, “It’s not like I offered to throw it. Oikawa-san–”

“Is a dumbass who scarfed down the milk bread before homeroom even started.” Iwaizumi-san finishes, throwing the ball away before dusting off his hands.

Kageyama stares past him at a blank space on the wall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you mean,” Iwaizumi-san starts to head back to their clubroom, halting to look over his shoulder with a serious frown, voice emphatically lilting up at the end,   _“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”_

Kageyama’s head turns to look at him lightning quick, eyebrows raising up in amazement because Iwaizumi-san just _teased_ him.

Iwaizumi-san turns away though, waving a hand for him to follow as he starts to move again.

Kageyama can’t help the smile he gives to the back of his head. He barely even realizes he’s doing it.

It’s easy.

 

 

—

 

 

“Hey, it’s almost graduation.” Kindaichi says from his side of the table, munching on one of the croquettes Kageyama tossed on to his bento when he wasn’t looking. They seem used to him doing odd things like this, so it’s a relief that they’d stopped calling him out on it.

Kunimi hums from behind the mug of his thermos, “You want to do something for the third years?”

“Yeah, yeah! We could get the other first years together and bake them stuff with their faces on it.” Kindaichi suggests excitedly, beaming at both of them.

“Can either of you bake?” Kageyama wonders out loud, chewing on the ends of his chopsticks as he stares down at his mostly eaten lunch.

“Ah, no.” Kindaichi admits dejectedly, deflating and shoving a piece of egg into his mouth.

“I’ve burned soup.” Kunimi confesses softly.

They stare at him.

Kunimi squints at them and raises a bunny shaped mochi ball to his lips, “I’m human too.”

Kageyama looks away as he beheads the bunny mochi ball mercilessly, nibbling on his chopsticks at a faster pace, mumbling out, “I can make cupcakes.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Kindaichi groans as he slams his hands on the table exasperatedly, nudging his leg under the table.

Kageyama glares at him self-consciously, pulling the chopsticks out of his mouth, “I can make cupcakes but I was hoping you guys could do better since that’s _all_ I can make.”

“That’s more than _we_ can make.” Kunimi defends soundly, popping the last bit of the bunny into his mouth with a faint smack of his lips.

“Are you even listening? _Just_ cupcakes. I can’t do anything fancy like…” Kageyama looks at both of them helplessly, gesturing to his own face with his chopsticks.

Kunimi raises an eyebrow at him, “We can get Hitachi to do it. He’s good at drawing. Just teach him how to use the cream. Besides, he likes cookies. Maybe he can bake those too.”

“I think you mean icing.” Kindaichi corrects him worriedly, then pauses and looks up at the ceiling, “Or is it frosting?”

He shrugs back, starting on another mochi ball, this time a bear, “Same thing.”

Kageyama sulks and shoves the chopsticks back in his mouth, gnawing on them relentlessly.

Kindaichi sighs and slides his bento away, pressing his cheek onto his desk, “I just want to do something touching for the third years, you know?”

“We know.” Kunimi nods and pats his spiky hair.

He sighs again, rolling his head to press his other cheek onto the desk, looking over at Kageyama now, “I just want to make them cry.”

Kageyama makes a face around the chopsticks he’s still chewing on, “Maybe _you’re_ going to cry.”

“Yeah, I am. So I want them to cry too.” Kindaichi says with a furrow of his brow, ashamed and heartbroken.

Kageyama looks away and focuses on ruining his teeth on his plastic utensils.

“We could all give them our second buttons.” Kunimi whispers flatly.

Kageyama startles and chokes on his chopsticks, hand pushing them down too hard at his surprise. He rips them out of his mouth and slams them onto the table, wheezing and coughing into his bento.

Kindaichi’s gingerly patting his back while Kunimi’s just as gingerly sliding a mug of his barley tea closer to him. He shakes his head and nudges Kindaichi away, nodding in thanks before downing the tea in one gulp.

“You’d probably be good at drinking.” Kindaichi jokes as he slams the mug down like a shotglass.

Kunimi retrieves his mug and curls his fingers around it, “Anyway, if you want to be sentimental about it, we could collect all the first year’s and even the second year’s second buttons. Or, well any of their buttons. Then we box it up and give it to the third years. There’s enough of us for the numbers to be even.”

Kageyama and Kindaichi stare at him again.

“We can randomize it, draw lots on who we’re going to give it to.” Kunimi tries, squinting at them again, “It’s less awkward and a lot sweeter if you do it as a group.”

“Less awkward but _still_ awkward.” Kindaichi points out.

“They’re going to be crying anyway, that’s plenty awkward already.” Kunimi fires back.

Kageyama pushes his bento forward, dropping his forehead onto the table painfully. “I’ll just bake cupcakes. I don’t care how many.”

Kunimi snorts, “Sure, _that_ motivates you into doing it.”

“Aw, man,” Kindaichi growls frustratedly, fingers sliding into his hair and tugging, “Now that I think about it, I kind of want to do the button thing.”

Kageyama rolls his head to the side, cheek mashed onto the table as he squints at him, “No, you don’t.”

“No, think about it, Kageyama.” Kindaichi rests his chin on the table, fingers still tangled in his hair, “It’s small, easy to hide from them before the farewell party, and it means all of them get a button on graduation day.”

“From their kouhai.” Kageyama stresses desperately.

“We’re adorable kouhai.” Kunimi proclaims readily.

Kindaichi drags his hands down his face, pressing them to his cheeks. “It’d be like saying ‘We love you, senpai’, only without the crushing weight of embarrassment since you’re doing it as a team and you didn’t say it out loud. That’ll be nice.”

“No crushing embarrassment is very nice.” Kunimi nods encouragingly.

“Cupcakes.” Kageyama rebuts, rolling his face back to press against the desk.

“How about buttons _and_ cupcakes?” Kunimi compromises, mirroring the both of them and gently placing his cheek onto his desk too, staring out the window. “To confuse them from the…feelings.”

“The less awkward feelings.” Kindaichi adds helpfully.

Kageyama stands up lethargically, huffing and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Bathroom.”

They watch him trudge out of the room, head ducked and shoulders tense. Kindaichi sits up and looks at Kunimi’s slumped over form carefully.

“Did you seriously do that because of Kageyama’s…” Kindaichi looks over his shoulder to make sure none of their classmates are listening, “His…thing…with..the…person.”

Kunimi sits up and props his cheek up on his hand, “Careful, be any more specific and someone might figure it out.”

“You know what I mean.”

Kunimi stares at Kageyama’s abandoned bento, moving to set his chopstick over the box neatly.

“Kind of,” He admits slowly, tapping a finger on the lip of the bento box, “But I’ve thought about doing this for the third years since the tournament, so, not _just_ for him.”

Kindaichi is quiet for a while, causing Kunimi to tap a faster rhythm on to the lip of the box to fill the silence.

“Wow.” He breathes faintly, staring with a small but teasing smile.

Kunimi glares at him, cheeks burning. “What? I’m just as grateful for the third years as you are. You know that.”

“No, just,” Kindaichi laughs kindly before his voice shifts to something more playful, “All that sleeping you do and I never once thought you’d be _such_ a romantic dreamer.”

“Shut up, you jerk.”

Kindaichi grins at him but falters when something hard hits him in the shin, “Ow, don’t kick me!”

Kunimi’s about to kick him again when Kageyama storms back in. He looks worn down but much calmer, like he’s accepted his fate with a sense of resignation.

“If I’m baking I want extra practice as payment.” He demands sullenly, face flushing despite the frown that’s deepening.

“What kind of weird payment is tha–Ow!” Kindaichi glares at Kunimi, folding his abused leg up onto his seat and rubbing at it through his uniform.

Kunimi looks at him blandly, waving a hand at Kageyama, “Done. You can practice with Kindaichi as much as you want for a week.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Kindaichi cuts in, he keeps his glare on Kunimi but slaps a hand on Kageyama’s arm, “You get _both_ of us for a week.”

“That’s fine.” Kageyama nods slowly, biting his lip before eyeing Kunimi warily, “The button…assignment. That’ll be random, right?”

Kunimi nods back reassuringly, “Completely.”

Kindaichi’s eyebrows raise up to his widow’s peak, turning his head slightly away from Kageyama, lips parting to mouth out the word: _‘Liar.’_ at him.

Kunimi makes a show of moving to kick his other leg, making Kindaichi fold it up onto his chair as well, tugging Kageyama in front of him as a shield. He blinks at both of them but doesn’t question it. He’s always been oddly trusting at the most random times.

Kageyama seems relieved, eyebrows lifting slightly and frown melting a bit. He gives them a sort of smile, sheepish and awkward. _Sincere_.

It makes Kunimi and Kindaichi feel a little guilty but, they’re teammates. The three of them are teammates.

“Let’s do it, then.”

Teammates take care of each other.

 

 

—

 

 

In the end, the team decided they’d give personalized farewell kits to the third years that happen to include the buttons as one of the keepsakes. The cupcakes would be for eating since not a lot of the more responsible members trusted volleyball playing preteens to hold something edible for too long without taking a bite out of it to replenish their energy. Each member was assigned a third year at random, drawing lots to determine who they’d be catering the kit for.

In a spectacular feat of bad luck and cruel irony, Kageyama plucks a name out of the box Kunimi holds in front of the team and stares at the cleanly written name he’d been sure not to get. Honestly, what were the odds?

“Who’d you get, Kageyama-kun?” One of their first year managers asks, pen in hand poised over a notebook to jot it down.

“Iwaizumi-san.” He says quietly, handing the paper away as she nods and goes back to sit next to Kindaichi.

“Be personal about it,” Their second year manager advices with a kind smile, “Think of them when you make it, or something that’ll make them laugh. Spoil them a little! Go out with a bang.”

Think of them. _Hah._

That’s too easy.

Kageyama thinks of Iwaizumi-san far more than necessary. It can’t be helped since he tends to think of Oikawa-san a lot as well, and they’re just not something you remember without the other. It’s mostly when he’s stuck on something.

What would Oikawa-san do?

Be amazing? Too vague.

Keep trying? Most likely.

And then, walking side by side with that question, shoulder to shoulder with Oikawa-san’s memory, wearing that unearned smile and that sunkissed laugh–

What would Iwaizumi-san say?

‘You’re amazing.’

‘Do your best.’

‘Don’t give up.’

‘Don’t lose.’

‘Fight.’

He doesn’t know.

As easy as it is to think of Iwaizumi-san, pushing down the idea of him into a few words is difficult. He’s too much to put into one sentence for Kageyama, which is stupid since he does it with Oikawa-san without as much effort. But it is what it is.

Iwaizumi-san is too much to put into a sentence, too much to place inside a box next to a button that says more and less than what Kageyama things he’s allowed.

He’s so much more than a box full of goodbyes and well wishes.

He’s _more_.

But, Kageyama on the other hand…

Huh.

“Do your best.” He says out loud in a hush, causing Kindaichi to eye him for the briefest of seconds.

 

 

—

 

 

Graduation day comes, the cherry blossom petals fall, and suddenly there’s not enough time to wait. It’s too quick to be real.

It’s too easy.

The ceremony is done and the third year members have made their rounds saying goodbye to the school. The second and first year managers are distracting them with a dozen different wacky photo requests while the rest of the team and the coaches set up for the send off party.

Kageyama stares at Kunimi and Kindaichi’s backs dazedly, holding a bundle of fairy lights for Hitachi who’s methodologically stringing them up on the volleyball net. “Okay, Kageyama, we’re moving a bit again.”

He shuffles to his left, trailing after his teammate with a weak nod of the head, “Yeah.”

“Is he staring again?” Kunimi whispers while pinning up one end of the banner signed by all their teammates.

From below, Kindaichi resolutely stares at the ladder rung in front of him, holding the sides of the step ladder to keep it steady, “Yup.”

“You’d think he’d get tired of doing that.” Kunimi grumbles, throwing his hand out for more tape, fingers flexing.

“Well, it feels kind of softer than before?” Kindaichi says with a pout, keeping one hand on the ladder while he plucks off one of the sizeable pieces of tape flagged at the edge of one ladder rung.

Kunimi feels the sticky residue meet his fingertips and raises his hand again to secure the banner, smoothing out the transparent material over the edges. “Maybe he _is_ getting tired, then.”

“Or,” Kindaichi murmurs, looking down at his shoes with a doubtful frown, “He’s scared to death and this really might have been a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” Kunimi admits sullenly, taking a step down one rung and waiting for Kindaichi to back away before continuing his descent, “But we should try to have some faith in him?”

Kindaichi stares at him exasperatedly, “Why does that sound like a question?”

“Look, he’d have been miserable if he didn’t do anything before Iwa–” A grimace as he looks around for anyone within hearing range, “… _he_ left.”

“Yeah, I know.” Kindaichi crosses his arms and looks away, “He’s just as good at pining as he is at tossing.”

“Okay, everyone,” One of the second years shouts to them, phone in one hand, “Change of plans, the third years are on their way already so we’re going to have to speed it up! Move it, move it!”

“What, already? They’re too early!” Someone says with a hoarse voice, winded from blowing up blue and white balloons piled high on top of the volleyballs in their bins and meandering around across the gym floor.

A first year peeks their head out from behind a large tarpaulin of the third year’s photos they’ve been struggling to put up, “Tell them to say goodbye to the school cat again.”

“Can the girls stall them some more? I’m only halfway done with these lights.” Hitachi whines, tangled up in the stringed orbs while tugging an equally tangled Kageyama after him.

“God, _okay_ , don’t panic!” Their incoming captain orders, he’s about to say something else but stops short and points a finger across the room where the tables of food have been artfully arranged, “Hazuki, get away from those cupcakes right _now_!”

Hazuki, a second year and the new starting libero come tournament season, freezes with a guilty furrow of his brows, hand ready to shove a large and fluffy blue and white cupcake with a little cookie Oikawa-san flashing a victory sign on top into his waiting mouth.

A few people groan, “Why the hell are you thinking of food at a time like this?”

“All this pressure is making me stress eat, okay?” Hazuki says before someone bodily drags him away from the table.

The tension becomes too much, and an irate second year pinning down Hazuki to the floor manages to howl out the final order, “Decorate like your lives depended on it, team! For the senpais! Go! Go! Go!”

Kindaichi and Kunimi watch Kageyama stiffen up as everyone proceeds to run around like screaming, productive wedding planners in June. He gets dragged by Hitachi finishing the lights in record time.

They eye each other as they step back from two of their middle blockers choking each other for the tape dispenser, “Have faith?”

“Have faith.”

 

 

—

 

 

The third years arrive in a torrent of cherry blossom petals and booming laughter. It trickles down into a swelling tide of gasps, awe and wonder bubbling like seafoam.

The gym is a smattering of warm fairy lights hung up all around, balloons glowing in the dark with a faint tinge of blue and white rolling around countless fluffy throw pillows littered over thick blankets where small lo tables have been set. There are paper lanterns in blue in the middle of them, and flanking both sides are the long tables of food with a rising tier of cupcakes for the third years as their centerpieces.

The noise rolls back in, underclassmen dragging the graduates to their seats and starting the festivities with enthusiastic performances from the first and second years.

As outgoing co-captains, Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san suffer through the honor of an elaborate lapdance made to bestow them with paper crowns by their successors.

Iwaizumi-san skillfully holds back a smile of amusement, though his brows slightly furrow in worry, wondering if their future vice-captain really wanted to do this at all. Oikawa-san, in contrast, beams excitedly at the serious expression his protege gives him even as he slides the hat onto his head, daring to fold up a bunch of tissue papers to serve as paper bills, snapping it into the waistband of the younger boy’s shorts.

The laughter and conversations flow steadily afterwards, voices roaring over one final round of arm-wrestling between the third years, heads ducking as pillows start flying when the third year managers start a pillow fight with their kouhai, rallying some other team members to their cause.

The third years make countless appreciative noises over the cupcakes once they get to dessert, taking photos and trading cookie people to see who tastes better than who. They’re delicious, apparently. And Oikawa-san steals one of Iwaizumi-san’s cookie legs because of it, shoving it into his mouth before the other boy can swipe it back.

“God dammit, you bottomless pit!” Iwaizumi-san growls, shielding his cupcake and what’s left of his cookie person with a hand.

“I’m a growing boy, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa-san justifies, licking his lips and leaning over to his other side, batting his eyes at their libero for a bite of his cookie hand.

Iwaizumi-san turns to one of the second years sitting with them, unable to stop himself from doting, “You know, you guys didn’t have to order something as fancy as this. It must’ve been expensive.”

The second year blinks at him while munching on a piece of karaage, shaking his head and smiling proudly as he looks over his shoulder at another table.

“We didn’t order them. The first years offered to bake them.”

Iwaizumi-san reaches back and expertly tugs the back of Oikawa-san’s collar from snapping off another second year’s cookie head. He follows the younger boy’s gaze and catches sight of a table full of first years. “Really?”

“Yep,” The second year laughs lightly, fondly in a way Iwaizumi-san understands, “Can you believe it?”

Iwaizumi-san smiles, watching Kindaichi try to catch a mochi ball in his mouth from where Hitachi is flinging it from his plastic spoon, failing spectacularly and hitting Kageyama right between the eyes. Kunimi watches the dessert fall pathetically to the table.

“Kind of?” Iwaizumi-san confesses, letting out his own laugh because it seems a little hilarious.

“Kageyama and Hitachi are like, the last people I’d expect to know their way around the kitchen.”

“Wait, Kageyama?” Iwaizumi-san’s eyes widen, staring intently at the boy in question as he rubs the bridge of his nose with a sour curve of his lips. He picks up the mochi ball and eats it, looking around at the table as he chews slowly. The other three first years stare at him in mild horror.

The second year nods, humming before moving to stand, “Mmmhmm, he baked the cupcakes and Hitachi baked the cookies. Want a drink, Iwaizumi-senpai? I’m going back for more chicken.”

“I’m good.” He says, still staring at Kageyama.

Kageyama swallows his food, looking up to see Iwaizumi-san staring at him, and gives him the same wide eyed look that he’d made just moments earlier. He nods his head mechanically in greeting before standing up to flee to the table of drinks.

There’s a chin on his shoulder, heavy as is leans against him, “That brat just keeps surprising you, it really gets annoying.” Oikawa drawls out, mischievous but lacking any heat.

Iwaizumi-san glances down at him and narrows his eyes, “Oh, so does that mean you _don’t_ want me to share my cupcake with you anymore?”

His best friend stiffens against his back, pouting and turning his nose away, “…I didn’t say that.”

Iwaizumi-san huffs smugly, nudging him off his shoulder, “Only half, okay, dumbass?”

“Yes, yes,” Oikawa-san hums as he reaches for the other boy’s plate, lowering his voice to a whisper, “Only half of your _darling_ Tobio-chan’s _disgusting_ love-filled baked goods.”

Iwaizumi-san elbows him in the gut, face tinged pink, “Keep your voice down, we don’t want anyone giving him a hard time once we’re gone.”

The other boy levels him with a condescending look, rubbing his stomach while taking a large bite out of the cupcake, large and most definitely more than half.

“Hey!”

“Iwa-chan,” He says through a shower of crumbs and frosting, “If you believe anyone on this team _doesn’t_ know about it, then you weren’t a very good vice captain.”

“Maybe I’m–”

“Aaaand, we all know that isn’t true.” Oikawa-san cuts in decisively, dabbing his nose with frosting as he places the cupcake in his hand.

Iwaizumi-san frowns and swipes the frosting off his nose, licking it off his thumb as he sighs down at his cupcake, “He’s going to say something.”

“And when he does, you’ll know what to do,” He replies casually, wiping his sticky fingers on his friend’s sleeve with a rehearsed and irritating tenderness, “because you’re Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi-san eyes him, frown morphing into a pout, and slowly offers his cupcake back to him in silent thanks.

“Well, Iwa-chan, if you insis–OW!”

 

 

—

 

 

When it reaches the point of the farewell gifts, the merriment dissipates, replaced with an odd and quiet curiosity from the third years. They sit on piles of pillows, sprawled across the floor and over tables as they wait in anticipation.

The team’s new captain stands up and offers his thanks and appreciation to the third years, voice firm but eyes shiny and wet. There are a few choked sobs and sniffles starting to erupt from different tables. As he continues with his speech, the first and second years stand together, surprising the third years as they strategically trudge over to their tables and distribute themselves to stand in front of one team member per person.

“Thank you for taking such good care of us!” Their captain shouts sincerely, bowing to them and finally letting the tears fall.

The first and second years do the same, a chorus of thank yous spilling out, watery and shaky as they bow and extend their arm out to their upperclassmen, small boxes in their hands.

Kindaichi is sniffling, head bowed in front of their graduating manager. She takes the box from him gently and opens it with careful touches.

She gasps, hand covering her mouth, “My favorite sweets…from Osaka. Kindaichi, oh my god.”

“It’s the book you’ve been looking for. You mentioned it a lot.” Kunimi mumbles a few tables over, averting his eyes from the shocked middle blocker in front of him.

A third year starts bawling near the back, pulling Hitachi into a suffocating hug as he holds a nearly extinct Vabo-chan mascot plushie tightly in one hand, “Dammit, Hitachi, I’m going to miss your stupid ass!”

There are gasps and delighted yelps coming from different tables. The first year manager who gets assigned to Oikawa-san breathes out a sigh of relief when his face lights up, excited and manic at the thick album of cds she’d given him. “They’re all labelled with volleyball matches. The good ones. This is amazing. Miyo-chan, you’re my favorite girl in the world!”

Beside them in a more secluded nest of pillows, Iwaizumi-san can’t even snort or make a smart comment, too busy cradling his unopened box and staring softly at Kageyama’s bowed head.

He reaches out to pet the boy’s head, faltering midway and moving to remove the lid instead.

His breath hitches, grip on the box tightening.

There are two bottles for pain relief, one lotion and one jet spray. Gel patches. Tape. Bandages and band-aids printed plain and with all kinds of Godzilla art. There are doodled chubby ones, and ones covered in little exclamations of roars and growls. His favorite has to be the large patches made to look like Godzilla’s tough scales. It almost makes him want to scrape up an arm just to use them.

It’s all things to use for volleyball, or with volleyball in mind. It’s _so_ pragmatic, _so_ honest, and so _very_ Kageyama that the older boy can’t help but let out a long sigh of pure, unfiltered fondness.

“I–” Kageyama finally says, looking up at him with that serious expression of his, “I’ve seen high school matches and they’re way more intense than what we deal with now. So, I…”

Iwaizumi-san nods his head, signifying for Kageyama to continue, smile tiny and soft as he touches the packaging of the Godzilla scale patches. It looks expensive.

“I know you and Oikawa-san will be incredi–, that is…” Kageyama struggles, desperate to find the right words, but it’s difficult, “You’re a good player and a good vice captain who takes care of–”

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi-san finally puts his hand in Kageyama’s hair, ruffling it gently and looking at him seriously, sincerely, “Thank you.”

Kageyama nods, staring down at the patch in his other hand, “I remember you said you liked Godzilla.”

Iwaizumi-san holds up the patch, brandishing it at him and beaming wide, “I love Godzilla.”

Kageyama’s whole face lights up, mouth trembling in holding back his smile. “That’s…good.”

“Is this your second button, Hazuki?!” They hear from the back.

“Everyone has one, don’t act so honored! It was Kunimi’s idea! No, senpai, let me go!”

Iwaizumi-san’s gaze darts to the box, suddenly narrowing on a small ziplocked bag hiding beneath a box of band-aids. He puts the patch back and plucks it out, raising it up to stare at the item nestled inside the plastic.

It isn’t a second button.

Inside of the plastic bag is a small, dark green zipper’s slider. It looks old and dull, possibly surviving the brunt of storms and other difficult weather.

“It’s from my Akiyama club jacket.” Kageyama rushes out faintly, “They said to think of you when making the box. So…so I–”

He breathes deeply, “I thought this would mean…more. Because. That’s what I think you are. You’re…more. Than a lot of things. You’re _more_ , Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi-san stares at the slider in front of him for a few seconds, Kageyama’s face blurred behind it.

A lot of the third years are inspecting buttons, teasing their underclassmen or reacting in various hilarious states of bashfulness. His best friend falls under the first category, kissing the button and winking at their manager, making her cover her eyes and flush a brilliant red.

“Oikawa-san will always have a special place in his heart for you, Miyo-chan!” He says dramatically, moving to pull her into a hug. His voice changes, melts to something more sincere, whispering to her as quietly as he can. “Thank you for taking care of our team.”

Iwaizumi-san turns back to Kageyama, slowly putting the slider back and setting his box aside. He wraps a hand around the boy’s wrist, tugging him down to sit with him, curling around him in a protective hug. He rests his chin on his shoulder, sighing fondly again.

Kageyama takes a few moments to respond, arms raising robotically, hands hesitant before they press against his back.

“You’re amazing,” Iwaizumi-san whispers desperately, honestly, solid and warm around him, “Don’t you ever forget that.”

The words make the younger boy still.

Kageyama inhales sharply, letting it out in a slow, shaky exhale as presses his face into the fabric of Iwaizumi-san’s shoulder.

“I’ll try.”

 

 

—

 

 

It’s afterwards, when the party is finished and the remains have been cleaned up, that Kageyama is led away to a stone bench under a keyaki tree near the school gates. It’s out in the open, but still with enough privacy from the trees and shrubbery that they can talk.

Oikawa-san, of all people, is guarding the area and keeping anyone away with grand gestures of goodbye.

“Can I kiss you?” Iwaizumi-san asks after a long stretch of silence, voice low and careful.

Kageyama whips his head to look at him, flustered before suddenly deflating. “As an apology?”

The idea of that makes his eyes sting.

He shakes his head firmly, staring at Kageyama with a pained, pleading expression.

“As a thank you.”

Kageyama lets out a choked laugh, blinking from the hot ache in his eyes, looking away to stare at the ground. “For having a stupid crush on you?”

He feels a hand covering his on the space of the bench between them. Rough fingers touch his chin, nudging his head back to look Iwaizumi-san in the eye.

“For caring about me.” He says with a note of indestructible surety. Eyes narrowed and fierce for only a second, then they soften as his finger moves to tap his head. “Here, if that’s okay.”

Kageyama scrunches his eyes shut, feeling a persistent pair of tears fall on his face. His mouth trembles. “It’s okay.”

“Well, uh, I don’t think I should kiss you when you’re looking like that, though.”

Kageyama sniffs, willing himself to relax, feeling the fabric of a sleeve wipe his cheeks before pulling away. And then, then, there’s warm breath over his forehead, soft lips pressing at the point just between his eyebrows.

It seems light, feathery, even. Barely there like a secret.

And just as quickly it’s gone.

Kageyama’s eyes flutter open to see Iwaizumi-san smiling at him, fondly, sincerely.

“Congratulations.” He finds himself saying quietly.

Iwaizumi-san blinks, hesitant and hopeful as he adds that familiar lilt to the end of his sentence, “Don’t you mean, _congratulations?_ ”

Kageyama snorts loudly, smiling at the old joke despite the burn behind his eyes. Iwaizumi-san’s smile widens in relief.

He looks over at Oikawa-san, noticing that he’s heading towards them with an arm raised.

“Iwa-chan,” He calls, jutting a thumb out towards a distant group of adults, “the parents want a picture with both of us.”

He glances at Kageyama, taking in his face and posture as if assessing him, planting a hand on his hip and pointing a finger while narrowing his eyes.

Iwaizumi-san stands up, “Hey–”

“Tobio-chan,” He barks out with an exaggerated gruffness to his voice, “Good serve tosses are about consistency. If you can’t manage a two-step approach with a one-handed toss, well, you’re a lost cause.”

Iwaizumi-san blinks, mouth twitching into a smile before smoothing down to a frown. He squeezes Kageyama’s shoulder and ruffles his hair one last time.

“Don’t forget what I told you.” He reminds him before walking off to kick his friend in the shin, moving past him to head to their parents. Oikawa-san winces but maintains his pose.

He scoffs, turning away and crossing his arms. “Try to get at least _one_ serve right, Tobio-chan. Bye, then.”

And then Oikawa-san is walking away from him.

Kageyama’s eyes widen, belatedly realizing what just happened, and bows down to his waist, yelling earnestly. “Thank you very much!”

He sits up again, eyes still stinging and chest still aching. It must take time for the feeling to go away. He leans back on the bench, hand reaching up to where Iwaizumi-san kissed him, fingers pressing on the tingle of warmth on his forehead. And.

Waits.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And then Kindaichi and Kunimi said its ok weird little buddy we’re here for you!!!
> 
> UNTIL SHIT HAPPENED AND _THEY WEREN’T_ IN THIRD YEAR ABLOOBLOO.
> 
> I'm definitely considering writing a sequel.


End file.
